verb de·com·pose ˌdē-kəm-ˈpōz: to cause something (such as dead plants and the bodies of dead animals) to be slowly destroyed and broken down by natural processes, chemicals, etc. : to cause something to be separated into smaller or simpler parts.

So I just discovered terribleminds.com and Chuck Wendig, and decided to attempt his latest Flash Fiction Challenge, based off random cocktail names. This is my submission.

Hot Red Lover

The woman was staring at me from the other end of the lobby.

She had been staring at me for going on five entire minutes.

I was, at first, merely uncomfortable. Three minutes in, I reached the next level, where I wanted to forget about checking in, get in my car, and drive away.

Now- there went the minute hand, we’re up to six- I want to walk over there, shove a finger in her face, and ask just what her problem is.

The line in front of me moves up. I take another glance at her. Surprise, she’s still there. The line moves up again, and I’m next. I pull my wallet from my bag and find the card I need. The woman is still staring.

It’s my turn. The clerk takes my card, puts me in a room on the third floor, hands me my card and room key. Wishes me a good day.

She’s still staring.

There’s no way she heard my room number, but I still worry. When I get up there, I lock both locks. Without her eyes on me, I finally relax. I throw my suitcase on the second bed and take the one by the window.

Why had she been staring at me?

I kick my shoes off, turn the television on. I gather my bathroom stuff and drop it on the counter. I search for the room service menu.

Maybe I looked familiar. Or maybe she thought I was pretty. Maybe she had a psychological problem.

Nothing on the menu sounds appealing. There’s a diner next door- maybe I should head there?

But I’d have to go through the lobby.

I order from room service. I’m told my food will arrive shortly, and I fold myself into the stiff armchair by the television. It takes some channel surfing, but I find a bad sci-fi movie, and it’s my lucky day because it’s about sharks. I love bad sci-fi movies. I love sharks.

I still feel like her eyes are on me. I draw my curtains.

I can’t concentrate on the movie, but I try anyway. Eventually, my food arrives. I eat what I can, but it’s tasteless and I can’t force it all down. The rest gets put in the mini fridge for breakfast.

Once the movie ends, I take a shower. I make it last longer than it needs to, and I use the entire little bottle of shampoo, even though it’s unnecessary. I wash my hair twice. Once I get out, I brush my teeth, and I focus too hard on each tooth. My gums bleed.

Then I go to bed. I dream about her- We’re in a bar. She wears this tight red cocktail dress- I might be attracted to her if I wasn’t so afraid. She sits at a table, sipping a martini. She’s eyeing me over the edge of her glass.

The other side of the bar is full of colors and lights and music, everyone is dancing and drinking. But the booth section is empty, except for her. Inexplicably, I approach her. I think I ask her what she wants from me, but dreams are hazy.

Her lips curl- I think it’s a smile. What don’t I want from you? It says.

Then we’re dancing. It doesn’t seem strange to me that this is happening- one moment she’s grinding against me, the next she’s moved on to some other stranger and I’m dancing alone. Then she’s back, but there’s feathers in her hair and we’re dancing the jitterbug. The lights are darker, the bands changed, but we’re still dancing.

Then we’re back in the booth, I’m given the impression hours have passed. We’re drinking from wine glasses, our arms are linked, like at weddings. We’re laughing. Her eyes are blue. I’ve always known, but it only now strikes me. They really are very pretty eyes. I can feel her hand on my thigh- it’s just under the edge of my dress and it doesn’t bother me.

I’m leading her down a hallway. Her nails are red, too, but the paint is chipped. It’s the only imperfection I can find on her.

We sit in the hotel room, sipping from wine glasses, our arms are linked, like at weddings. The television plays something irrelevant in the background.

We lay on the bed, stare at the ceiling. It’s covered in stars. I glance at her. She’s staring at me.

We’re kissing, she’s pressing me into the mattress. Her hand is on my thigh- it’s pushing the edge of my dress up and it doesn’t bother me. It suddenly feels very hot, I can’t breathe. The windows open now, the air makes it easier. Her hand is finding the edge of my panties and I gasp.

Her mouth is on my neck, her hand is tugging at the buttons. I must have taken her shirt, although I don’t remember it. She curls her tongue around a nipple.

Her hands are everywhere, and I’m lost in her. I try too hard to run my hands over all of her, I count the freckles on her stomach with my mouth.

She’s getting close, I think. I am. Then its over- just like that, she’s kissing me one last time, and I’m alone.

I’m in a bar. I sit in a booth, sipping from a wine glass, watching people dance.

Then I wake up. I am not alone in bed. Her eyes flutter, then open. They’re blue, and they really are very pretty.